


Perspectives

by Finnboy (Wobin)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-23
Updated: 2004-06-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wobin/pseuds/Finnboy
Summary: Three different perspectives...





	1. Speculum

**Author's Note:**

> This was an exercise in writing in different perspectives, first person, second and third

It was the eyes. Everything he thought he hid, safe behind stone walls of that poker face, was revealed through those eyes.

 

If you looked long enough.

 

Only ever a flicker, a brief shift from cold glass to molten crystal, but it was there.

 

Maybe he did know about that one weakness, he certainly made every effort to draw attention away from them, the clothing, the stance, everything done to either avoid attention, or distract to the point where you weren’t looking at him to see, but only to react.

 

Those eyes were a better barometer than attempting to read his body language. He’d learnt long ago how to control those, easily transforming and faking reactions, underlining threats, and suggestions with the right focus. It was easy to get drawn off track to what he wanted you to see, rather than what he actually felt.

 

Threat and counter-threat. Attack and parry. Reaction and response.

 

Even after years of experience looking for the out of place, the mistakes made, the clues, the evidence; it’s hard to see the real thoughts behind the mask.

 

But I didn’t make it this far up in the federal food chain without learning some things.

 

I can read him. Sometimes. When the happenstance is moving too fast for him to think. When the events are shifting, sliding, merging, reacting too quickly for a proper response. When he falls back on ingrained instinct to solve problems, to manipulate the situation as best for his ideals as possible. That is when I can read him the best. When there’s a fraction of a second of forethought. When he does not control the situation from the very start.

 

That’s been happening far too often recently. Maybe for the best.

 

It’s obvious he doesn’t believe entirely in either side. He knows what will be the result if the other wins, and the Truth? Too narrow a definition for the problem presented. Even I can see that. Nothing good will come from learning the Truth. It will present more questions than answers, which is why I never got onto that crusade, but tried to cushion the inevitable fall.

 

He will always choose what is best for him. That much is obvious. There haven’t been many in his life that would alter that perspective. Not enough influence to shift his worldview to more than the self. Most of those that could have are probably dead, by his hand, all the more to be able to control him.

 

Pity that control is eroding. He’s waking up to the problem, or perhaps he knew of the problem already, and was just biding his time before stepping out. That’s more likely. He’s the type to prepare well beforehand for any incident, planning out back doors and escape routes, backup plans for backup plans. Solutions to problems that may never happen, but won’t catch him by surprise if they do.

 

After all, if you have no-one to fall back on, the only person you can depend for help when the chips are down, is you.

 

I have to admire that, yet, I also pity him for having to live like that. Always looking back over his shoulder, always having to plan for every contingency. Never having the luxury to stop and rest. Always moving, always changing, hiding, stealing away in the middle of the night.

 

He has to do things he dislikes, purely for the tactical advantages it gives him. Honour and integrity have never been hurdles he’s had difficulty clearing, he only has to depend on himself to get through alive, and into a position of power where he can manipulate events to the best scenario for him. Yet that dislike that flashes every now and again, the slight and almost completely unnoticeable hesitation, shows he does have some level of those virtues, he’s just trapped in a maze that prevents him from taking proper action to pay sufficient homage to his conscience.

 

We’re all a product of what we live in. Some, more than others. Him, one of the more thorough examples of the lot.


	2. Speculum

He’s not as pure and righteous as everyone thinks he is. He knows how to deal with situations that may not have the best moral bent. He’s not above using shifty tactics to get the job done, despite how the others would expect. They’d prefer to think of him as their boss only. The one in charge, I suppose. The one who will always be there, do the right thing, be their bastion of hope in this every chaotic world of despair.

 

It’s a father figure job in a way. He has always been somewhat of a parent to the two of them, covering for them when those higher up became aware of their works. He’s done plenty of manoeuvring of the truth, subtle manipulations of reality, gently shifting the light towards the grey, in looking after them. Shielding them from the ravages of the reality that is beyond the X-Files, the reality to which they can often be blind to.

 

They see him sitting there in his armour of starched shirt and tie, behind his staunch castle of his hardwood desk. They don’t see how he’s still human, still reacts like one, and how he fights for them, to keep the Files open. Neither of them realise that, one too busy in his narrow minded holy jihad for his Truth, the other making sure they both stay intact. And he’s the one making sure the backlash from their antics don’t wash over them like a mudslide, taking out their lives and liberties.

 

He has a certain moral strength tempered with a common sense that allows him to discard his morals when the time is right. I suppose that’s what impresses me the most, that, if given the right incentives, he can be just as much of a rat bastard as I am, or at least as much as he needs. It’s sort of professional admiration of a sort. He’s not one to cross at any time, for he’s far from predictable. And as to what he sees through those eyes of his, only he knows, and he does know far more than he’s giving away, of that I’m sure. I’m never certain how to act around him, to be honest. Most other people I talk to, I can play on their fears, expectations and prejudice to coax the right reactions and thought patterns I prefer them to experience. He, however, hides just about every reaction behind those glasses. I can never be sure if my ploys are working, never certain that I’m pushing the right buttons. I have to hand it to him; he’s certainly worked successfully on that poker face for a good long time.

 

I’ve always managed to keep an eye out for him over the years. If anyone has the capacity to protect, he’s the main focus. There have been a few plots against his life that I’ve diverted, not that he’ll ever know. He’s much too valuable to simply discard as a pawn; he has more innate power than that. Even though pawns may get promoted to queen, one has to survive the journey, and in this world, that journey is often cut short. The defensive pattern White has taken on is not going to be enough to ward off the other side. We will not survive if we simply attempt to absorb the damages. We must take the offensive, lead forward with those simple pawns and attack. He knows that. He’s been working towards that in the limited capacity his job allows.

 

That job has both its advantages and drawbacks. It’s a good foundation of power to start from, but that foundation is riddled with dry rot, cancerous with decay. There are far too many leaks in the Bureau for any real privacy, the upper echelons have been subverted, blackmailed, generally taken over. In terms of information gathering, they’re fairly good at it, and the federal badge can cover a multitude of sins, as our favourite duo have often used to their advantage. He’s also a large figure publicly within the Bureau, so taking him out abruptly without prior organisation would be a difficult task, especially since whoever did so would have an obsessed fox on their tail soon afterwards.

 

Hah. Obsessed. More like rabid. There’s a fine line there.

 

He’s done well dealing with those two over the years, I have to say. Although it’s taking its toll, as my occasional forays through his apartment have shown. An increase in medicine to deal with blood pressure, and migraines, he’s getting old, and the job isn’t helping stave that off at all. He always squints when the headache starts, perhaps his prescription needs updating.

 

I think it’s about time he steps beyond his job limitations. He needs a base of operations that allows him greater scope, more control, more chances to exercise his authority. It’s certainly coming to the time when decisions must be made and made quickly. I imagine that he’d be perfect for the job.

 

It’s now just a matter of convincing him.


	3. Focus

It’s clear they don’t think anyone notices. Their nonchalant attempts to disguise their emotions between each other are pretty clear to most of us around them, despite what they might believe. As soon as one steps into the same room as the other, up goes the tension. A few of us find it kind of sweet, any positive emotion is good in our situation, far too much to bring us all down and keep us depressed. The fact that the two of them make one another happy is all for the good.

 

On first entering this group, I was quite confused as to the chain of command in this place. Both of them seemed to be the boss, one during the missions, the other maintaining the contacts and information at the home base. Neither of them seemed to defer to the other, but for all that, neither of them ever countermanded any command already made. They worked together amazingly well, as if they could read each others mind. The one giving the orders was simply the one that had the most experience in that area, but that decision never seemed premeditated, it just happened that way.

 

It’s hard work doing what we have to, killing on command, infiltrating and destroying. I understand the reasoning behind all the destruction and mayhem, and hell, I agree with the basic idea. It’s not like I was new to any of this. It’s just the repetitiveness of the actions, the sheer concentrated devastation that we have to effect upon various laboratories and factories that wears you down. Day after day, it’s a new place, a new smoking wreck, a new pile of redistributed building materials after a fire sale. It’s a form of cleansing, to do this, I suppose, bleaching the existence of them off the face of the planet, making sure they never have a reason or even a whim to return. Making them wish they’d never decided to start here.

 

It’s amazing what the human body can adapt to. As a leader of infiltration and attack teams, the loss of a limb has not slowed him down one iota. He’s still one scary mutherfuck, one I’d happily not wish to meet in a brightly lit mall, let alone anywhere dark. He can practically disappear at will, blending well with the shadows and moving silently. We’re all learning all we can of his tricks as fast as he can teach them, for we need every advantage we can get, and his skills are invaluable. There’s a large pool of interesting skills to draw from in this group, the two of them seemed to have pulled in quite an army, skilled, resourceful… unremorseful. We all know what needs to be done. All of us have been affected by the invasion in one way or another. This is simply a way for us to get back what we’ve lost, set a few ghosts to rest; allow us to sleep at nights.

 

 

As for the human mind, thank god it is flexible. Some of the things we’ve learnt from those labs, some of the things that were done. Insanity would be the least of our problems. No-one I know of here has had a single night of uninterrupted sleep since joining, the mind just sheers away from the ideas at the time of learning, only to bring it up and back in technicolour and sound upon sleeping. We’ve taken to sleeping in pairs, whoever is the closest. It helps to be held. It helps to know you’re not alone.

 

Nothing seems to faze him now. He’s gotten older, lost a bit more hair, gained new lines around the eyes, but he’s still solid as a rock. I think we all depend on that, somehow, that he’ll always be there, an anchor stone to which we all can hold on to. One person in particular, of course, but his vigilance in maintaining our current status quo among the whole lot of us is impressive. The FBI had nothing on the political currents flowing in this group. So many diverse people huddled together, hiding in the shadows. So many diverse cultures, clashing at every moment. Past enemies, now forced to become allies against a common foe.

 

Tempers flare at the least provocation, but he deals with them with the ease of a pro-skater avoiding slower traffic. He has a presence of command that is difficult to ignore, and for the majority of us, we don’t even try, knowing that despite our current emotions, nothing we feel would ultimately affect the final outcome. We’re kind of childish in that way, flailing away at one another in a futile attempt to prove some obscure point, to prove that one is better than another, only if just for a reaction. To hope that some things, like human animosity has not changed in our violently shifted worldview. Looking for some constants, some things that remind us of our previous lives, lives we can hopefully once again go back to when this is ‘all over’. He maintains the order, maintains the sanity, and does so with a finesse that often surprises. He defuses situations so smoothly that the participants often do not even realise they are suddenly arguing the same point of view, that they have sided with one another against his debate.

 

The two of them are subtle in their interactions, I’ll give them that. Hardly more than a few physical touches in public, an offered shoulder to lean on, or moral support, by simply having a presence in the room. The atmosphere changes, once the two of them are together, somehow softens, warms ever so slightly. You can almost feel the tension easing out of their frames as they affirm to one another that the other is alive and well, just as they focus and stress as they are apart, worrying even though they could be but a room away. They have the self control to control their body language, but their whole sense changes when they meet, as if the focus had suddenly snapped into place and the headache from squinting at the slightly skewed picture fades away.

 

All of us knew one or the other before this whole situation exploded. Knew one, and possibly the other by reputation, at least. We are the conglomeration of their network, the people they worked with, often at opposite sides of the moral scale, but now working together with morals put aside. A large number of us professed surprise at the relationship between the two of them, but I think for the majority of us, this was not a major revelation; it was something that, in the back of our minds, we often saw as a possibility. They do well for one another, filling in the gaps of experience with effortless shifts that couples with years of experience under their belts have yet to master.

 

I think that we have a fighting chance, with the two of them at the helm. With the force expanding, as we get word out to compatriots, this chance will rapidly become far more than just a possibility. We will fight back, we will win.

 

They will learn never to underestimate the abilities of humans.


End file.
